


At the End of All Things

by ereshai



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Not A Happy Ending, Off-screen Character Death, Zombie Fest 2013, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Zombie Fest 2013 - prompt #8 - killing your zombified best friend is the hardest part of any zompocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of All Things

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure if the Major Character Death warning applied in this case. Let me know if I should change that.

It happens quickly. One minute, Stiles is walking next to him, eyes searching the shadows in front of them, and the next, Stiles is on the ground, wrestling with Mr. Harris’ reanimated corpse.

Scott drags the zombie off of him right away, of course, and rips the thing’s head completely off. The body falls where it stands, and the head bounces away down the hall.

“You okay?” he asks Stiles. Stiles has pulled himself up into a sitting position, and he’s hunched over, his head in his hands. “Stiles? Did he…”

Stiles holds up one arm. There is a perfect impression of Mr. Harris’ teeth on the last two fingers of his hand. A couple of the marks are bleeding sluggishly.

“Maybe it’ll be okay. It just barely-“ Scott begins.

“It’s enough, Scott. We’ve both seen it happen.” Stiles still has not lifted his head, still won’t look at him.

“We could cut off your hand. That might stop it before it spreads.” Scott looks around, as if he’s going to find an axe or something in the middle of a high school hallway. Unfortunately, the weapons they carry are more useful for inflicting blunt force trauma, not cutting.

Stiles finally looks up. “That’s not going to work. It only takes about a minute for blood to circulate throughout the entire human body. You _know_ that. I’m infected.” His voice is unnaturally calm.

“Don’t give up yet. Maybe there’s something we haven’t thought of yet,” Scott protests desperately.

“Like what? We aren’t virologists, and no one is going to miraculously develop a cure in time to save me.” Stiles gets to his feet and stumbles over to the wall, slumping against it. He holds up his hands. “God, look how much I’m shaking.”

“We could try the Bite. It might work this time,” Scott offers without much hope, and Stiles is already shaking his head.

“You know that’s a very bad idea. For both of us.”

When the zombie attacks had first started, Derek had offered the Bite to one of the infected victims. What had followed was the longest, most painfully drawn out death any of them had ever witnessed – the victim had been tearing out chunks of her own flesh when Lydia had mercifully ended her suffering. That was also how they had learned that werewolves were not immune to the zombie virus, and that alpha werewolf zombies were harder to kill than human zombies. Very few of the Pack had survived.

“Lydia’s immune, maybe…”

“Scott, no. Just…no. Lydia’s immune to supernatural crap, not bioengineered viruses. Not as far as we know. Do we really want to test that theory?”

“I can’t just let you fucking die, Stiles. You’re my best friend. You’re my fucking _brother_.”

Stiles’ calm façade finally breaks, and he buries his face in the crook of his arm, muffling his sobs. He jerks away when Scott lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Stiles-“

Stiles drags in a shuddering breath and lets it out. He does it again, and again. Finally, he drops his arm and looks at Scott.

“You need to do something for me,” Stiles said, wiping his hand across his face.

“Anything. What is it?”

Stiles doesn’t answer right away. In the stillness, Scott can hear a rhythmic clacking noise.

“What the fuck?” A few yards away, Mr. Harris’ severed head is lying on the ground, facing them, biting uselessly at the air.

Stiles laughs, a hint of hysteria in his voice. “Stop that from happening to me,” he says.

“I’m trying. How-“ he breaks off, realizing what Stiles is asking him to do. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Scott, please-“

“Stiles, I can’t _kill_ you.”

“You want me to walk around as one of those things? You want me to come after you, after Allison and Lydia and Boyd, and try to kill you? Besides, I’m already dead.”

“We aren’t even sure you’re really infected,” Scott shouts.

“I am. It’s already starting. Look.” Stiles holds up his bitten hand again. The small wounds are no longer bleeding, and the edges are turning black. Faint black lines are radiating from them and down into his hand. They both recognize the first stages of infection.

“I _can’t_.”

“You said anything.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“You said I was your brother.”

“Okay!”

Stiles slides down the wall to sit on the floor. Scott joins him, their shoulders bumping.

“Okay,” he repeats, more calmly. “I’ll do it. But I’m not doing anything until you’re d- until after. I’m not doing anything while you’re still you.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles slumps toward him and lets his head fall on his shoulder. Scott puts his arm around him, holding him up.

“Scott?”

"Yeah?"

“You should take care of Mr. Harris’ head. You know, before you leave.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“And-“

“What, Stiles?" he prompts when Stiles fell silent.

“Don’t…don’t let me hurt you. After.”

“I won’t.”

They sit together, waiting for the end.


End file.
